“About what?”
“About how much trouble I’ll be in if I don’t stop messing with Ella Porter.”
Briley Joe’s eyes widened. He snickered as he elbowed Reed in the ribs. “I didn’t know you’d been messing with her.”
“I haven’t,” Reed said. “Not yet.”
Chapter 8
Dan Gilmore walked Ella to her front door. She supposed she could at least ask him to come in for a few minutes. After the concert in the park, he had hinted that he’d like for her to go home with him. No, he had actually done more than hint. He’d all but asked her to spend the night with him.
“Don’t you think it’s time we move our relationship to the next level?” he’d asked. “We’ve been dating on and off for nearly a year now and—”
“And you think it’s time for us to have sex.”
He’d stammered a bit at that point, then told her he cared for her and that his long-term goal for their relationship was marriage. However, he didn’t want to rush into wedded bliss. Not after his disastrous first marriage.
“I like our relationship the way it is,” she’d said. “I’m sorry, Dan, but I’m not quite ready for the next step.”
Coward! She chided herself now that the date was over and he’d brought her home without a word of protest. You should have told him that you’ll never be ready to move to the next step with him. You should have said, “I like you a lot, but I don’t love you and I have no intention of having sex with you—not now or in the future.”
Ella removed her key from her purse. Dan slipped his arm around her waist. Go ahead and kiss him good night and get it over with, she told herself. He’s expecting it.
He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. She tried her best to respond, but she did little more than simply allow him to kiss her. A part of her wished that she could feel something sexual, some spark of arousal. Marrying Dan would make her parents very happy, especially her mother. But just because she was thirty and eligible and men weren’t lined up at her door, it didn’t mean she was so desperate that she would commit herself to a lifelong relationship with a man she didn’t love. Not even a man her mother considered an ideal catch.
Dan ended the kiss, then grasped her hand in his. “Dinner tomorrow night?”
Say no! End this thing here and now. Put both of you out of your misery. “Sure. Dinner tomorrow night will be fine.”
“Pick you up at six?”
“Mm…” Forcing a smile, she nodded.
He returned the smile, released her hand, and stood at her side, waiting. “Would you like for me to unlock the door for you?” He glanced at the key ring she clutched in her left hand.
“Oh, no, thank you. You go on. I can let myself in.”
She watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car. When he got behind the wheel of his Lexus, he waved farewell before he closed the door. With her strained smile still in place, she waved back at him. The moment his car disappeared down the street, she shoved her key ring back into her purse, went down the steps, and made her way around the side of the house. She opened the garden gate and entered the backyard.
She felt restless, oddly dissatisfied and just a bit melancholy. The night was warm, with a soft, slightly humid summer breeze. The sky was clear, revealing a three-quarter moon and an abundance of stars. A lush garden surrounded her. Wisteria clung along the fence row and trailed up the latticework arbor that served as an entryway, leading from the brick patio to the stepping-stone walkway that ended at the Victorian-style gazebo. A variety of plants flanked the path: aster, begonia, day lily, geranium, hydrangea, nasturtium, and rhododendron. Lots of pinks and lavenders in various shades and repeated geometric shapes. Symmetry. A profusion of exploding color.
Victorian lampposts, glimmering with electric lights, added a park-like atmosphere to the private garden. Her parents’ home had been built in the early 1900s by her father’s grandparents after the original family house burned to the ground. But it had been her grandmother, the first Eleanor Porter, who had been the gardener in the family and had planned and executed the design of the backyard garden in the late thirties, shortly after her marriage.
Ella sighed. This was a night for romance: for lovers to stroll arm-in-arm, to sit together in the swing in the gazebo and share kisses. A night to strip off their clothes and skinny-dip in the pool; to lie beneath the stars and make love until the moon faded and a new day was born.
Ella sighed. She was such a romantic fool. There was no Prince Charming waiting to sweep her off her feet. There was no gallant, old-fashioned Southern gentleman longing to pay court to her. The only man in her life was Dan Gilmore. A nice, ordinary guy. A guy who bored her to tears.
The air was heavy with the scent of flowers. She breathed deeply, savoring the smells. Ella stepped inside the gazebo, then reached out and gave the white wicker swing a gentle push. She watched it move back and forth for several minutes before she sat down and closed her eyes. This was her very favorite place in the whole world. Happy memories had been created here. Sitting in the swing for hours and talking with her father, the two of them discussing a variety of issues. Sometimes disagreeing, but more often than not, being in total agreement. And there were memories from her childhood, cuddled in the swing beside Aunt Cybil on spring-time afternoons while her aunt read fairy tales to her. Spending time all alone in this very spot, relaxing, resting, escaping from the real world that existed outside the fenced walls of the Porter estate.
Daydreaming, fantasizing, pretending. Within the sanctuary of the gazebo, she could, for a few fleeting moments, be anyone she wanted to be, go anywhere she wanted to go, do anything she wanted to do. She could be thin and beautiful. She could be wild and free. A dream lover would come to her and share her life, giving her everything she needed from a man. Passion and excitement, love beyond all reason—an only-you, forever-after kind of love.
A noise caught her attention. Her eyelids flew open. She glanced all around the gazebo and saw nothing. Squirrels? Birds? The wind in the treetops? She listened, but heard only the nighttime stillness. The faint, melodious drone of summer insects; the humid breeze whispering through the greenery; the trickle of water in the fountain.
Ella undid the top three pearl buttons on her dress and spread the garment apart so that the breeze could reach her warm skin. She closed her eyes and caressed her neck with her fingertips. Her flesh was hot and damp to the touch. She allowed her fingers to journey downward to the V between her breasts, then she dipped her index finger into the crevice. And all the while, she thought of a man’s hands on her body, of a man’s fingers exploring. Big hands, strong hands. Muscular arms. Holding her, claiming her.
She heard the noise again. Footsteps? Was it possible that her father had returned from Birmingham early? No, he would have telephoned if his plans for a weekend golf trip with his campaign manager had changed. Perhaps Viola had come outside for a breath of fresh air. No, it was unlikely that Viola would have left Carolyn alone at this time of night. And the housekeeper didn’t live in. So, whoever or whatever was out there was an intruder.
Ella’s heartbeat accelerated. A rush of adrenalin pumped through her body. There really wasn’t anything to fear. The crime rate in Spring Creek was reassuringly low. And the sound she heard might be coming from a dog or a cat that had made its way through one of the openings in the ten-foot-high shrubbery that lined the far side of the garden. Scanning the area a second time, Ella hoped to see an animal padding about on four feet. Her gaze stopped at the red maple tree a good fifteen feet away from the gazebo. A dark form stood near the tree. A human form. Ella stifled a scream, locking it in her throat. The figure moved. Tall, wide-shouldered, long-legged. A man. A large man.
Ella ordered her legs to move. Stand. Run. The order was ignored. She sat frozen to the spot, her gaze riveted to the menacing hulk coming slowly but steadily her way. Finally her body cooperated and she rose to her feet. Moisture coated the palms of her hands. A shiver of
apprehension rippled down her spine.
He emerged from the dark corner into the light cast by a lamppost several feet away. Instinctively Ella lifted her hand to her mouth as she gasped aloud. Recognition came, then a wave of relief, quickly followed by a new and even greater surge of fear.
Reed Conway!
He halted halfway between the maple tree and the gazebo, his stance proud and utterly masculine. She couldn’t see his eyes there in the shadows, but she sensed his heated glare. An aura of pure masculine power and danger emanated from him and quickly trapped Ella with its virile potency.
Run. Scream. Issue him a warning. Her mind rattled off a series of choices. For pity’s sake, do something!
But all she seemed capable of doing was waiting, frozen like a statue in the center of the gazebo. Reed walked with a sauntering strut, easy and sure. Confident. As if he were a man who feared nothing. She should ask him what he was doing here on private property. She should order him to leave immediately.
She did neither.
He continued his leisurely march toward her, becoming larger and more threatening with each step he took. Then suddenly he stopped just short of the gazebo entrance and looked directly at her. Their gazes locked instantly. Every muscle in her body tensed. Every nerve rioted. A hundred crazed butterflies fluttered wildly in her belly. She and Reed stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Even in the dimly lit garden she could make out the crystal coolness of his incredibly blue eyes.
She couldn’t bear one more minute of the sizzling awareness that radiated between them, so she ended the all-consuming deadlocked gaze that connected them. The moment she glanced away, he entered the gazebo. Instinctively she moved away from him until the backs of her legs encountered the swing.
Although the night was warm, damp with Southern moisture, she felt the heat of his big body—a heat that intensified as he drew closer. She sucked in a deep, aroused breath. He loomed over her, a good five or six inches taller than her five-foot-nine height. And even though she was not a small woman, the breadth of his shoulders and chest dwarfed her. Everything feminine within her reacted to his raw masculinity. Her mind tried to caution her, tired to override her body’s undeniable attraction to this primitive male. But in all her thirty years, Ella had never experienced such fierce longing. It was irrational, ridiculous and unsuitable. Reed Conway was the last man on earth who should ignite such extreme emotions within her.
“All alone tonight, Miss Ella?” he asked, his voice smoky-dark and deep.
A discernible shudder quivered through her from head to toe. The corners of Reed’s wide mouth lifted slightly. Damn the man, he knew that he both frightened and intrigued her, and that knowledge gave him a power over her that she did not want him to possess. When she took a long, steadying breath, his gaze left her face to watch the undulation of her chest as her breasts rose and fell. A hot flush of embarrassment crept up her neck and onto her face. She thanked the Lord that it was nighttime and the lighting in the garden was soft and dim.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You’re trespassing on private property and that’s against the law.”
His grin widened. He took the final step that brought their bodies into alignment, only a hairbreadth separating them.
“I came to see you.”
Lord, help me! She shut her eyes for just a moment, long enough to block out that hungry look in his eyes. You imagined that look, she told herself. Reed didn’t come here to seduce you. And even if he did, you’re too smart to let that happen. This man is a convicted murderer. He’s dangerous. Like a wild animal that’s been let out of a cage. Tell him to go away. Tell him to leave you alone.
“I don’t want you here, Mr. Conway.” Her voice sounded shaky, even to her own ears. “Leave now and I won’t—”
“Tell your daddy.” Reed chuckled, a oddly mirthless sound. “There’s something you should know, Miss Ella—I’m not afraid of your daddy.”
“Then you’re a fool. If my father knew you were here, alone with me, harassing me this way, he’d—”
Reed grabbed her by the shoulders. She cried out, uncertain what he would do next. His fingers dug into her soft flesh beneath the thin barrier of cotton. She winced with a twinge of pain, and the moment she did, he loosened his hold. Her eyes lifted to meet his stare, and for one endless moment, she thought her heart stopped beating.
“I hear you got another letter,” he said. “And some phone calls, too.”
“Yes.” She could barely get the word past the lump in her throat. Her heart had lodged there.
“And you went straight to your daddy, didn’t you?”
Reed slid one hand across her shoulder, then quickly grabbed her by the nape of her neck. She swallowed hard.
“Yes. I’d told you that if you sent me another letter, you would leave me no choice but to tell my father.”
He drew her closer, forcing her to face him, their noses almost touching. “And I told you that I didn’t write any letters to you. But you didn’t believe me, did you?”
“I wanted to believe you.”
“You told Webb and he sicced Frank Nelson on me.”
“Let me go.” Fear began to override the desire she felt. “Release me now or I’ll scream.”
“Do you think I came here to hurt you?”
He pivoted his head just enough to align his cheek to hers, then rubbed his stubble-rough skin against her smooth flesh. Ella went weak in the knees. He nuzzled her neck with his nose, then brought his lips up to her ear. When she quivered, she knew he could feel the trembling. Would he recognize it as a sign of fear or arousal? For the life of her, she wasn’t sure which it was.
“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” he whispered. “You should be afraid. I’m dangerous to you, Miss Ella. I could ruin your life.”
The feminine core of her body reacted in a purely physical way to the nearness of an overpowering male, a male whose body was pressing against hers. Clenching and unclenching, her intimate folds flooded with sexual moisture. A tingling sensation radiated upward and outward.
“If you hurt me, my father—”
He pressed his index finger over her mouth. She gasped. He explored her upper lip, then circled to pay equal homage to her lower lip. His touch was gentle and seductive. With sudden, amazing clarity, Ella realized that Reed Conway wasn’t going to attack her, that he had no intention of physically harming her. He was playing a game with her. A frightening sexual game.
“If you didn’t write the letters or make the phone calls, then you have nothing to worry about,” she said breathlessly. “You can’t get in trouble for something you didn’t do.”
He lifted his head and looked her squarely in the eye. “Are you really that naive? Lady, I just spent fifteen years in Donaldson for a murder I didn’t commit. So don’t tell me that I can’t get in trouble for something I didn’t do.”
“I’m sorry.” The moment the words came out of her mouth, she wished them back. Now he’d think she believed him, believed that he was innocent. But she didn’t believe it. Or did she?
He released his hold on the nape of her neck. His hand at her shoulder eased downward, along her arm to her hand. He entwined his fingers with hers and placed his thumb against her palm. She barely silenced the gasp that sprang to her lips when his thumb repeatedly circled the center of her palm in a maddeningly slow and titillating motion.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. Then he moved away from her, took a long, hard look, and walked away, back into the night from which he’d come.
Ella stood alone in the gazebo for quite some time. Confused and unnerved. And aroused to the point of aching. She had to avoid any future confrontations with Reed Conway. No matter what, she had to make sure he didn’t come near her again.
Carolyn sat by the window and watched Reed Conway walk away from Ella. If he hadn’t left when he did, she would have been forced to call the police. What was he doing here? What had he said to her daughter? And
why hadn’t Ella run from him? Surely she hadn’t invited him here. To anyone seeing the two of them together, they appeared to be lovers meeting for a late-night tryst. But Carolyn knew better. Reed Conway was scum. Ella would never lower herself to become involved with a man like that.
Some women were fascinated by that type, by the bad boys of the world. God knew the chest-beating, white trash type appealed to her sister. But Ella was a better person than Cybil. Carolyn had raised her daughter to be a lady. Surely Ella would never shame the family the way Cybil had. But better to be safe than sorry.
Should she mention to Ella that she’d seen her with Reed? Should she call Webb and inform him? Of course, if she phoned Webb at his Birmingham hotel, God only knew who might answer. Some woman he’d picked up at the country club or some girl he had met in the hotel bar? If she knew her husband—and she did—he wasn’t spending the night alone. The first time she’d found out that Webb had been unfaithful, it had broken her heart, but over the years her heart had hardened. Webb couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Carolyn decided to wait and see if Ella would mentioned Reed Conway’s late-night visit. If her daughter had nothing to hide, then surely she would tell her. As for informing Webb, there would be time enough for that later, if necessary.
“Are you ready for bed now, Miss Carolyn?” Viola asked.
Carolyn glanced up at her devoted companion and smiled. “Yes, I’m quite tired.”
Viola looked out the window and then at Carolyn. “I see your daughter is back from her date.”
“Yes, she’s been back for a while.”
“Do you think she’ll marry Mr. Gilmore?”
“If I have anything to say about it, she will. Dan’s a good catch. He’d make a suitable husband. I don’t understand why Ella isn’t more grateful to have him interested in her. It’s not as if my daughter could have any man she wanted. Dan appreciates all her good qualities. He married a beautiful young girl for love the first time. My guess is that this time he wants compatibility and companionship with a sensible, intelligent woman.”
Every Move She Makes Page 10
